


Wish. Granted.

by germanjj



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if wishes came true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish. Granted.

**Author's Note:**

> first written and posted in 2009 for a "what-if"- challenge on livejournal
> 
> set right after 118 "Something Wicked"

Dean wakes up even before the sun cracks through the thin curtains of their recent motel room. Nightmares have haunted him all night. Nightmares of Asher dying, of Sam dying as a little kid. Of Sam dying now. 

Dean gets up, figures he can't sleep anymore anyway, doesn't want to either. He's restless. 

As he taps into the small bathroom, trying not to wake up Sam, he admits to himself that the last case had really gotten to him. Maybe because of the little kid, maybe because of the unfinished business. 

Dean splashes some water into his face, avoids looking into the mirror. 

Something feels off. Tickles at the back of his neck and it's right there, but Dean can't quite touch it. The feeling makes his stomach roll. 

Something's wrong. 

 

Carefully, he goes back into the room, watches Sam sleep. His brother is sprawled out under the covers, his hand and foot peeking out, and his breathing is slow and even. Normal. 

Dean can't find anything that would explain the feeling in his gut. 

 

But it returns full force two hours later. 

Sam is sitting opposite to him, picking at the breakfast on his plate and he's even more quiet than usual. Even with the four year break between them, Dean knows very well what that means. 

Sam wants to tell him something and Dean is not gonna like it. 

"Okay, Sam, spill it." His own voice wavers only slightly and he hopes that his brother doesn't pick up on it. 

"What ... do you mean?" Sam looks up, shooting him an innocent look and Dean only sighs and shakes his head. 

Sam nods and looks down again. 

He finally puts his fork aside and takes a deep breath. "I want go back." 

Dean's mind goes blank. "Back to ... where?" 

Sam sighs, annoyed. Like he's angry that Dean makes him say it out loud. "Back to Stanford. I need to get back home, Dean. It's time." 

Home. 

That word burns inside Dean's chest more than he ever wants to admit. 

"Look," Sam starts again at Dean's silence. "I need to go home eventually. I can't ...," he laughs, but it sounds painful, "I can't be on a road trip with my brother forever. I have to think about my future. And I can't have you take care of my sorry ass for the rest of your life." 

"It's my job to take care of you." Dean says it out of reflex. And because his mind is too busy processing to form something else coherent. 

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam's voice is softer now. "I appreciate ... I love what you did for me after ... after Jess. But I have to go back. Before I can't." 

Alarm signals go off in Dean's head, something about the things Sam says, something about the wording. 

But he ... it's just that far out of reach that Dean can't touch it. 

"So," Sam hesitates. "You're driving me home?" 

Anger flares up in Dean, betrayal. So suddenly like someone just flipped a switch. Not saying anything, he throws some bills on the table that will cover the breakfast and get's up, out of the restaurant in no time. 

"Dean!" 

He can hear his brother behind him, following him. He sounds almost as angry as Dean feels. 

"Dean, damnit, wait!" 

Dean doesn't. He makes his way over to his car, his baby - the only damn thing he has left now - and gets in the front seat and out of the parking lot almost before Sam jumped in at the last second. 

"Jesus, Dean! Thanks for being so understanding!" Sam shouts at him, closing the door in full speed and searching for the belt. 

Dean keeps his eyes on the street, doesn't even know where he's driving, although he's pretty sure they're not bringing more miles between Stanford and them. Instinct's a bitch. 

 

"Wow," Sam states, his voice hoarse. "I knew you'd be pissed but this ... ." 

"What about hunting Sam? Huh? What about Dad?" Dean spits out. _What about me?_ He keeps unsaid. 

Sam snorts. "If Dad would want to see me, he should find a better way than to invite us to a hunting trip." 

Something's still off about the way Sam says that, but Dean is too furious to think about it much. 

Sam is leaving. Again. And totally out of the blue, too. Just after they saved the kids of a whole town, damnit. Just after he must have seen, must have realized, what difference he could make. 

Just after they had started to be brothers again. 

 

Silence falls over them. It's thick and dark and choking and Dean tries to quit the death grip he has on the wheel. But that would mean he has to relax. And relaxing would mean losing control. 

Eventually, Sam is the one who can't take it anymore and he starts fumbling around in the glove compartment, obviously looking for a decent cassette tape. 

He stays quiet until the gun Dean keeps there falls in Sam's lap. 

"Holy shit!" Sam squeaks and jumps back and it's enough to startle Dean that he almost loses control over the Impala. 

"Are you trying to kill us, you idiot?" Dean shouts, gets his baby back on the road. 

"Ohmygod," Sam pants, still squirms on his seat like he's trying to escape it. 

Dean grunts, grabs the gun from Sam's lap, that he still hasn't touched, and throws it back in the glove compartment. 

It's when he looks at his brother, that he can see the real, honest shock on Sam's face. 

"Dean?" Sam says and his voice is alarmed, panicked. "Since when do you have a gun in your glove compartment?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean barks, now more irritated than angry. 

"The gun. In your car. A fucking gun, Dean!" 

"Dude, I swear, if you're not cuttin' this bullsh... ." Dean stops when he catches the sight of his brother again. 

His face looks pale, his eyes are wide. The shock is real. 

 

That's when it hits Dean. What Sam had said, all morning long. His wording. 

No. No. _God_ , no. 

 

Dean remembers just in time that he's driving a car. That he's not alone on the road and that he should damn well watch where he's going. 

His fingers shake as he stops the Impala on the road side, the other cars driving by. 

A memory comes back to him. Not even old, fresh. A jumble of words. 

_Sam: "Sometimes I wish that..."_

_Dean: "What?_

_Sam: "I wish I could have that kind of innocence"_

_Dean: "If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could have that too."_

"Dean?" Sam asks again and his voice shakes just a little. 

Dean doesn't want to believe that his brother is scared of him now. 

 

Sam doesn't know. Doesn't ... _remember_. Nothing about monsters and hunters and demons. He's innocent again. As much as he could be. He's what he wanted to be. 

 

It's like a second hit, like a punch to his guts when Dean realizes that he has a choice here. That it lies in his hands whether or not Sam can keep this innocence. He shoves the thought of his father aside, the memories of Sam holding his first gun, being so scared of seeing his first monster. Memories of Dean teaching him how to pick locks and smile at the teacher the right way so that they won't notice the absent father. 

Dean swallows hard, past the lump in his throat, when he makes his decision. 

"You think I'd drive with you through no man's land without something to protect us?" He says, answering Sam's question about the gun. "Calm down, kiddo. I got a licence and I damn well know how to use it. Don't get your panties in a twist." 

Sam stays silent for a moment and Dean is afraid that Sam will call him on his bullshit. But then his brother just nods and seems okay with that explanation. 

Dean is just a second away from breaking the curse. From telling Sam everything, all the things he should remember and doesn't. All the things they have gone through together. As brothers. But something stops him. Sam has a second chance here and Dean damn well knows it. If he finds out that something evil caused this, that something bad has happened to his brother, he could always fight it then, could always ... . 

But maybe he should just take the chance. Maybe this isn't something evil. Maybe, this time, someone just listened.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean says slowly. "I'll get you home." 

 

The ride to Stanford is long and exhausting. Dean changes his mind about a dozen times, not able to bear the thought of losing Sam to ... to obliviousness. But in the end, he always keeps his mouth shut, hides the fake IDs and makes sure Sam never sees the hidden weapon stash in the trunk. 

It's a clear, bright day when Dean stops the car and says a goodbye to Sam which doesn't fit his mood at all. Sam stands in front of him, awkwardly, like he's thinking about hugging his brother before he goes back to his life. Something the Winchester's have never done. Something they'd probably only do when one of them was dying. 

They settle for a clap on the shoulders and a tight smile. 

"You'll call me, right?" Sam asks and Dean nods. 

"And say hi to Dad. And maybe ... come around for Christmas?" 

Dean almost bites his tongue, fighting not to let Sam see how worked up he is. 

"Yeah, sure. Be good, Sammy. Take care of yourself, okay?" 

Sam nods, smiles and breaks Dean's heart. 

It's for the best, Dean keeps reminding himself as he watches Sam disappear into the building. 

 

He feels lost, unsure of his position in his own life. He had always been the big brother, the protector, the teacher. 

The one thing, the one ... big ... thing in their lives, that tears them apart and glues them together more than anything - it's gone now. Taken from them. 

Dean doesn't know what Sam is to him now that their defining momentum had been taken away. Dean had never learnt just to be a brother. 

 

"Why did you do it?" John's voice barely withholds the anger in it. When he watches his son from afar, entering the building, he turns his head to the man beside him, sitting in his car like he belongs in there. 

John wants to punch, wants to kill. Wants this guy to take it all back even when the tiny voice inside his head whispers that it might be for the best. 

But John knows defeat when it sits right next to him. And the dark haired, small man with the kind eyes that could fool anybody but him; he's a god. He's a trickster. 

"Why?" John repeats because at least he has to know that one, has to know the reason why something like him would take an interest in his life. 

The guy shrugs. "Sure beats the alternative." 

 

The end.


End file.
